angel attack: the return of christian r. bauman
you have never failed me.
disappointed me? yes. too many times to count.
look at the mentalities I have to move you away from.
look at all the time I have to take out of my ambitions. my hope. my love that loves me back. to help you back up and get you moving.
somewhat i'm reminded of why I made myself a personal blog and stuck to it for so long:
a place of my own construction for me to own up and be myself.
a place for my mistakes to plot themselves.
this was the place where i could win by being the loser.
and through here you found out what and who i really am.
someone who always gets the wrong idea. someone who fears predictability.
i kept it real here.
even if what i wrote wasn't.
i took any and all criticisms,
accepted them,
and went about my way.
with the stabbing of a page with my pen as the only thing moving.
like a dude with no dribble. always traveling.
sometimes i literally just do things until i'm yelled at to go away.
it's just who i am. take it from me and the many wrong ideas brewed through my mind through the many moons, my dear.
there will never be an omnipotent understanding of anything for me:
a young and ambitious man watching his shadow silence the beaming and fleeting sunlight of the evening crossing the lake he stands in front of. closing down on the shore and crouching next to a mound of flat-surfaced rocks. one dances down each of his fingers while he compares the surfaces of the rocks and the water.
through the few leagues, he learned to gaze into oceans.
watching each and every wave break toward the slopes of sand on the shore.
through every sediment it could, only to fall and seep below the grounds surface.
i can't think of anything else right now more real and of more sense to me.
into a silence, a silence I need to take in and understand.
it will never come full-circle.
we are human, and all desires for the divine will surely leave us in disappointment.
but no one's life is lived without disappointment.
we still have friends that are good to us, we have people that believe in us. that will follow this story regardless of how many times we promise them there may not be a good ending on the last page.
we can shrug our shoulders with a sigh directed at the ground with no chance of ever reaching the sky.
or we can feel the flat surface of a rock with our thumb and from it find a thought to smile upon.
we can skip that rock, through as many waves as we can, just to see how many jumps it can get. upon throwing, our arms swing sideways to ask if it can go on and surf into eternity?
Cast away. The spinning stone says, "Maybe..."
rock is tough. that's what it believes in. through erosion it unifies grain-by-grain. when we learned about the rock's toughness. humans learned weaponry. It was the friend that stood beside Cain when jealousy of his brother began to brew.
rocks were meant to be thrown but i'm not about watching where the rocks will fall. i meant to throw rocks just to see if they could fly. as a young child i observed that when stone cast sideways, two flat surfaces would collide. the stone and the water grew parallel. the likeness sent the stone for a few more trips. water can solidify at the surface as hard as the rock. though it can possess the softness of a goddess it can still jam the lungs of a human, press down weight, and disintegrate the toughest of any rock grain-by-grain.
then one stone caught my attention. when he observed the heart-shaped stone on his palm, i held what felt like two merged tears. these thumbs and index fingers surveyed the rock, marveling over it's softness and the warmth i felt closing the heart in these two palms. one tight squeeze and it became hot and with a long-arching sidearm throw the rock split straight through the beam of sunlight on the water. It took 3 skips and then sank into the depths.
the love was now leagues away.
thy do we throw our hearts like stones?
absence sets into the soul the moment it hits home.
shoes, shirts, and all clothes in service. i ran into the water. devolving sideways toward a swimming position. it turned darker toward a desire that no amount of hard work can fulfill.
one that can only fulfill itself.
like a diseased man staring at his cure. it had to wait.
and then he began to feel it, those thoughts, poisoning his blood.
a wish to cheat death,
like a glance at the next desk
during a spelling test.
scared to try, opening
a surgically-repaired third eye. i remind:
this heart is human,
so lets do this.
through this,
to see a second sun
a sceptor stood
frozen in the storm:
iced lightning.
the dueling suns wave to me
reflecting from a lake
that had given many lies
but this time, meet me halfway it might
if only i try.
"drink" a command is barked under the breath of the sun
i call the bluff
and greet the dream
with no fakeness
in this oasis
the sage du soleil with
a hand raised
begins to say,
paradise is always promised
involved in all this
if you take it to a higher conscious
not in a car nor in a wallet
above the facade with
through these eyes the sands give rise
a desert that once dried the mind,
has drifted off to the side.
arrive. a new hori-
zon, comprised of
the hot colors of clouds,
to forever climb up.
submerged. as though a sail in a storm. attempts to resist the rip currents only to be found further from the shore, and that's where this personality went without a chance to wave it goodbye.
and it will miss this. perhaps more than i will miss it.
drowned.
then somewhere, a head shooting through a surface. screaming from the burning sensations of the salt in the eyes.
but with the air and a little adaptation and eventually feeling of freedom and enjoyment, every breath of these lungs enlarge. feeling it.
is reincarnation a complete cure or only an antidote amidst a sea of poisons?
what happens if you feel a darkening of your veins?
with poisoned blood pumping pain forcing the lips to say,
"not again..."
i return to shore. standing before it and the silence of the sun.
these knees stab the sands.
i fill my two hands with stones, drawing my fractured-face downward with a heavy breath sinking through the shadows of my palms.
hands grow warm and the rocks begin to shake. eroding grain by grain.
without a smile i blow the fragments of crushed work into the ocean.
they glide into an airborne school and capture the orange essence of the evening while showering toward the water.
when the stone droplets touchdown onto the surface, they fall flat, parallel, and take a few more leaps. Love goes on a little longer.
despite giving a sigh, I see the lesson now.
it's important to be happy. it always is. but sometimes you can't be happy just to save yourself. everyone looks up to someone. and if i can't be happy and look up to myself, then i'll just have to do it to be looked up upon through the eyes of others
i don't know what the world is holding next for me. i don't know who is waiting for me along this shore...
all I can do is watch the rocks glide on the surface with every skip, embracing every single one were given.
every bird that sings with the skies feels pride for those that are First in Flight. divinity in it's everything is found in the extra bounces life gives us.
keep skipping baby.